Remnants of Love
by Intrepidwarriors
Summary: Something's making Charlie throw up, and for once it's not Vinnie's behaviour.


Remnants of Love

Vinnie woke and stretched sleepily, reaching out an arm to draw his wife closer to his side, only to notice a distinct emptiness on the other half…well more like a third if he was to admit the truth to himself…of the bed.

He turned over to see if he had just missed her with his arm. Rubbing one eye with his balled fist to clear the sleep, his lethargic brain had to finally accept the obvious fact that Charlie was missing from the bed.

Eyeing the rumpled sheets, strewn clothing and patches of chocolate sauce staining the bedding, gave evidence of last night's rather energetic activities. He grinned to himself, memories tantalizing him with vivid imagery he wouldn't mind repeating.

Gagging noises from the bathroom caused his smile to slide into a frown and alerted him to Charlie's whereabouts.

"Charlie-girl, you ok in there?" he called worriedly from the bed.

"Fine, I'll be out in a minute" she answered tiredly thru the door

More retching noises followed, sounding bad enough to drive him from the warm bed to the bathroom door. He tried the door handle but found it locked.

"Let me in Charlie-girl!" Vinnie demanded, twisting the door handle from side to side in a fruitless attempt to loosen the lock.

"Stay out Vinnie!" Charlie shouted at him. "I'll be out in a minute!"

Subsiding to his wife's request, Vinnie returned to the bed, pulling the sheets up round his naked body as the cool air reminded him that summer hadn't quite made its appearance.

It was a number of minutes, and several worrisome noises later, before a pale-faced Charlene Davidson-Van Wham emerged from the bathroom. Ignoring her husband's questioning eyes, she clambered back into bed and snuggled in closely next to his warm body.

"How long have you been sick?" Vinnie asked his wife, stroking her face gently.

She sighed in appreciation from his touch, the tender strokes soothing her.

"Not long. Don't worry about it" Charlie replied sleepily, yawning and hugging him tighter. "Come on husband, it's Saturday and I want to have a decent rest…you wore me out last night."

Vinnie drew her closer, uneasiness furrowing his brow even as his wife's breathing eased into a slower rhythm as she drifted off into a deep sleep in his embrace.

It was a while longer before Vinnie could join her as his unease over her nausea niggled at his brain, taunting him with a thought he just couldn't quite comprehend.

"That's the second time this week. I wonder if she's getting the flu?" he murmured quietly, quickly glancing down at the love of his life and feeling her forehead for heat.

There was no unusual heat, just a slight snore as her bottom lip hung loose, swollen red from his kisses.

Before he could think any further on the matter, a mind fog drifted in and took over his higher functions, sending him safely to the Land of Nod.

Vinnie woke several hours later, but this time Charlie was securely tucked against his side, still soundly asleep. A grumbling roar in his belly reminded him that it was time for breakfast and he quickly extracted himself from the bed, ignoring Charlie's half muffled pleas to stay. He piled an extra quilt on top of her to keep her warm, as he slung his robe round his body and tied it at the waist.

Making his way downstairs, he found he wasn't the only one hunting for something to eat.

"Hot dogs, hot dogs, hot dogs….is there anything actually edible in this kitchen?" a sightly-clad arse mumbled to itself.

"Morning Carbine" Vinnie greeted the pair of cargo pants pointing out from a cupboard.

The owner of the pants turned in a complete 360, managing to pull out a box of pop-tarts, acknowledge Vinnie, rip open the box and tear the aluminum foil off the top of one of them all at the same time.

Vinnie winced as his commander's fiancé happily munched on the uncooked tart.

"They taste better once they're toasted" he said, pointing in the direction of the toaster.

Carbine paused in her chewing, eyed the remainder of the bar, stared skeptically at Vinnie and shrugged, before continuing her chewing with gusto.

"This is fine, it's better than any damn ration bar" Carbine replied, pulling out a kitchen chair and sitting on it backwards, her arms resting over the top of it.

She watched as Vinnie pulled out the remaining pop-tarts and put them into the toaster.

Neither spoke as the tarts cooked, preferring silence over idle chatter. Time and forced association had caused a begrudging, yet respectful truce to spring up between them as they learnt to tolerate each other's presence, but it hadn't been enough to encourage chats about the weather over a hot cuppa.

Vinnie handed the first tart to Carbine and she accepted it with a nod of thanks, nearly burning her fingers as she made an eager grab at the hot tart. The smell was tickling her nose and she found herself regretting not following up on Vinnie's suggestion earlier.

"Charlie was throwing up this morning. Is there some flu going round do you think?" Vinnie dropped the question casually

"Vomiting?" Carbine asked cautiously, nearly burning her tongue as she tried to tackle the still too-hot tart.

"Yeah, it's the second time this week. The strange thing is, she's got no temperature or any other symptom. I can't work it out. She should have had a snotty nose, a sore throat, anything but she hasn't, just the vomiting" Vinnie replied, before biting into a piping hot tart.

"I haven't heard of any flu. I'm sure one of us would have got it too if it was doing the rounds, our physiology is very similar to the humans, apart from the obvious differences" she said, waggling her ears to emphasise the point.

"I'm hoping it clears up soon, I hate seeing her like this" Vinnie said, looking rather downcast at the thought of his beloved not being at peak condition. It would mean he would need to look after her and he didn't think the Last Chance Garage could handle another week of him being cooped up inside. The walls still bore scars from the last time it had happened. Normally Charlie kicked him outside to cool off if he got too angsty, but she wouldn't have the strength to do so if she was sick.

"Do you want me to check with Throttle, see if he's heard of anything?" Carbine offered, seeing the worried look on his face.

He nodded, looking more relieved. If anyone knew how to solve a problem, it was Throttle.

Carbine pulled out her pocket communicator and put in Throttle's code.

"Good morning beautiful" a voice called over the com, the type of smooth coated, honey-dripping sweetness she'd come to love over the years.

"Morning fuzzy-buns!" she replied cheerfully, Throttle's affectionate greeting still making her belly-butterflies flitter in excitement.

Vinnie nudging her in the ribs and whispering "ask him, ask him!" soured her mood momentarily and she hissed at him to shut up.

Shoving him out of her face, she paused for a breath, resisting the urge to hit him over the head with the still hot pop-tart in her hand.

"Throttle, have you heard about any flu going round? Charlie's been throwing up this week and Vinnie's more than a little concerned."

"Not that I know of, beautiful. Do you want me to check with Modo? He hangs out at the orphanage with the kids and you know how bad flu's and children are. If anyone's going to get sick, it'll be those poor tykes" Throttle replied over the com, his tone turning from teasing to serious.

At Carbine's affirmative response, Throttle called Modo over and repeated Carbine's question. There was a long pause, followed by some muffled whispering and then Throttle's voice could be heard again.

"Uh Carbine…Modo thinks we'd better come over there and have a 'chat' with Vinnie" he said, sounding embarrassed and hesitant over the com.

"But I didn't do anything!" Vinnie howled over the com, nearly deafening Carbine and managing to wake Charlie in the process.

Carbine threw her hands round her ears as Charlie came bolting down the steps, a baseball hat in her hands and her normally well-behaved tresses forming a shocking halo round her face. Both women looked ready to do some bodily harm to Vinnie's person as they nursed their nearly perforated eardrums.

"What's going on?" Charlie demanded. The Last Chance Garage had picked up business the last few months and she was feeling worn out. Sleep was a valuable commodity, and a sleep-in worth its weight in gold.

"One at a time!" she had to yell as Carbine tried to explain over Vinnie's earnest protestations of innocence for something he hadn't done.

"…Vomiting….twice…week…Vinnie said…and Throttle said…Modo….kids" Carbine tried to grate out between Vinnie screaming "Throttle…me…completely innocent….Modo's picking on me again!...Throttle….paranoid…stupid….vomiting…"

"Vinnie…SHUT UP!...Carbine, repeat what you just said…but with more intelligence" Charlie barked, putting a drill-sergeant to shame.

"Vinnie said you've been vomiting twice this week, he thought you may be getting a flu but you don't have any additional symptoms. He asked me if a flu was going round, I said I hadn't heard anything so we asked Throttle. He said he hadn't heard of anything and then he asked Modo and after that they said they were coming over to have a 'chat' to Vinnie" Carbine reeled out, pausing only to suck in quick breaths when necessary.

"Whatever for? He hasn't done anything!" Charlie replied, dropping into a chair and putting the baseball flat on the kitchen table.

"That's what I…" Vinnie tried to second Charlie's statement but was cut off by Carbine telling him to shut his traphole.

Vinnie's face turned red and he bellowed at the Martian general.

"STOP TREATING ME LIKE A CHILD!"

"THEN STOP ACTING LIKE ONE!" she bellowed back.

Carbine drew a breath for the next round of hostilities but stopped when something Vinnie had said triggered a memory, something Modo had been telling her about…something to do with human females and their anatomy.

Vinnie must have had the same discussion with Modo because his face blanched and turned whiter than he could ever achieve with just his natural colouring.

He staggered over to a chair and collapsed into it, a glazed look creeping into his eyes as his jaw hung slack and his breathing came faster and faster.

"Oh crap!" he muttered and a few Martian expletives followed after.

"Vinnie, what's wrong?" Charlie asked anxiously, putting her hand to his forehead. "You're not coming down with a flu are you?"

Carbine's look of shock was soon replaced with a wide toothy grin.

"Are congratulations in order?" she asked Charlie.

"Is everyone going crazy today?! Congratulations on what Carbine?!" Charlie asked in exasperation, her anxiety increasing as her husband's condition changed without warning.

The white tornado exploded from his seat and grabbed the general round the middle and swung her round in a circle.

"I'm going to be a DADDY!" he crowed, joy replacing the previous shock.

"I'm going to be an AUNTY!" Carbine crowed as well, her smile somehow managing to extend even wider.

"You're both going to be sore if you don't tell me what gave you that stupid notion!" Charlie hissed at them, not impressed by the song and dance going on with the two mice.

"Modo said that when a human female is pregnant, she often has this 'morning sickness' where she throws up constantly. I asked him because I wanted to know if it was the same as Martian females. The signs were obvious once I put two and two together…or as in this case, _one plus one equals three_!" Carbine replied, her eyes glowing softly with pleasure at the thought of holding a niece or nephew in her arms.

The moment was spoiled by Vinnie trying to count his fingers and coming up with the obvious answer.

"Three? How does that work? One plus one is two…see….I counted it on my fingers. Wait a sec, do you have additional digits Carbine? I never noticed before…hey, that's so cool! Does Throttle know?" he asked, his pint-sized attention span struggling with too much information overload.

Charlie eyed her husband and the excited general with a tolerant half-smile.

"Sorry to disappoint you Carbine, but I'm most definitely not pregnant. It's something else that's making me nauseous" Charlie said gently, wincing inside at the dying spark of excitement in the two Martians' eyes.

There was a silent pause as they tried to absorb this information, broken by the arrival of Modo and Throttle running into the kitchen.

"Am I an Uncle?" Throttle asked in between breaths, his eye darting from one female to the other.

Modo put his hand up to indicate he also wished to know the answer to that question, but he was too breathless to verbalise it.

Charlie burst out laughing.

"You're uncles alright….OF A HAIRBALL!" she managed to get out between her hysterics.

"But I thought you said you're not pregnant?" Vinnie said, way past confused and entering totally dumbfounded city.

"Your fur has been getting stuck in my throat whenever I pay particular _attention_ to your chest, Mr Van Wham. You may be a mouse but you're shedding like a dog at the moment, that's what causing all the retching noises. I've been trying to clear my throat!"

Groans of disappointment greeted this statement followed by requests not to put such imagery in their heads by all but Vinnie.

The white mouse merely scooped his wife into his arms and Eskimo-kissed her nose.

"Come on Charley-girl, let's give them something to really groan about!" he said, grinning as he ran up the stairs.

The three Martians still downstairs fell to the floor laughing when they heard his mate's reply.

"Fine, but you're shaving those pecs first!"

The Endish of this Piecish.


End file.
